by Jan Coffey
The place seemed to belong just to them. Theirs was the only car on the gravel drive. And with the exception of the tour boat’s horn as the vessel passed close to the cliffs on its way back and forth to Hammersmith Farm, the only other noises were the constant whoosh of the surf and the cries of the gulls floating above them on the fresh ocean breeze.
Nate, shirtless, lay on his back on the blanket. The sun warmed his skin. The light breeze kept him cool. Ellie, dressed in a white tank top and matching shorts, sat cross-legged on the blanket next to him. Occasionally, she would read aloud the clues from the crossword she was doing and torment him by giving the answer just as he was ready to tell her. Other times, she was looking after him—brushing off an ant or putting more sunscreen on his chest and face. Nate was being spoiled and he loved it. He couldn’t remember the last time that he felt this relaxed and content.
All the same, he knew this time would be brief.
“Turned to the right,” Ellie said. “It’s a four-letter word. The second one is an E.”
“Let me see it this time.” He reached for the puzzle.
“No.” She held it back out of his reach as if they were both six years old.
“I just want to look at it.”
“No. You’ll pretend you’re taking one look and then do the rest of it on your own.”
Nate grinned at her. He loved it when she got that stubborn look in her eyes. “Just because you play that way, that doesn’t mean I’ll do the same.”
“It’s my puzzle.” She balanced the folded newspaper on her lap and wrote down some letters. “Never mind, I got it, anyway. The word is geed.”
“Give me another one.”
She inched away on the blanket. “No, you’re getting too cranky.”
Nate grabbed her by the waist and wrestled her down onto the blanket until she was lying flat on her stomach, her body trapped by half of his weight. She’d somehow managed to stuff the newspaper under them.
“Can I please do the puzzle with you?” he whispered in her ear.
“This isn’t a nice way to behave.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet.”
He kissed the soft skin beneath her earlobe. Her face turned to him and he had to taste her lips. But he couldn’t stop there. Ellie had the most arousing effect on him. The kiss deepened. His arm and leg gathered her more closely under him until there was no hiding the evidence of his hardening body as it pressed against her.
“This is a dangerous place to be doing this,” she said teasingly as he broke the kiss.
“Let me help you with that puzzle or the people on that tour boat will be taking home some very explicit three-by-five mementos of their weekend in Newport.”
“You’re not scaring me.”
She slid her hand along the front of his pants. Nate’s head dropped on the blanket in defeat when she caressed him.
“But for the sake of not making a public scene, thereby avoiding arrest…” She pulled the newspaper out. “I’ll let you look over my shoulder.”
There was nothing Nate would have liked more at that moment than to drag Ellie behind one of the large boulders or into the back seat of the car and show her just how dangerous things had become.
She leaned on her elbows, found the pen and put the crumpled newspaper where he could see it, too. “Common expression. Five letters, the first letter is an I.”
Nate’s hand reached beneath her where her bare stomach was resting on the blanket. Her skin was smooth and warm, and he was becoming obsessed with the feel of it.
“Idiom,” he said vacantly as his hand slid up under the tank top and cupped her breast.
This time, she was the one who took an unsteady breath.
“How come you’re not writing it down?”
“You’re the devil, Nate Murtaugh.” She offered him the pen. “You write it down. I need to see where your hands are.”
He took the pen, but his body remained draped over hers. His leg moved along the backs of her smooth thighs. He wrote down the letters.
She read the next block. “Chatter.”
“Gab,” they both answered at the same time.
They went through a few more clues, and each time it was a race to come up with the answer first. Nate drew up a little block in the corner and started keeping score. She tried to cheat by covering the questions with her hand for an extra few seconds to have a little head start. When the puzzle was done, Nate tallied up the score and wrote it down. They were close enough to call it a tie.
When Ellie stared at the final scores, he thought she was double-checking his math.
“Your fours and sevens…”
“What about them?”
“The way you write them.” All traces of humor were gone from her face. She continued to stare at his handwriting. “Write down your cell phone number.”
She knew his number; she’d called him on it several times. Nate didn’t ask why, though, and wrote it down. There were two fours and one seven in the phone number.
She picked up the paper and frowned. Nate sat up. “What’s the matter?”
“I can’t believe I didn’t recognize it.”
“What?”
“At Teasdale’s house, when I came in after you. There were things on one of his workbenches. Scraps of materials. Flag sketches. Other things, too.”
“What about it?” Nate had only glanced at the stuff on his way through. He really hadn’t had a chance to look at it closely, though, because the police had bagged and tagged it all while he was with Ellie during her questioning.
Ellie sat up, too. “I stood there with the envelope you’d given me under my arm, still sealed, but there were all these sketches and fabrics on that bench…like he already had the information.”
“He might have done a little research up front. But what does that have to do with the way I form the numbers?”
“In a partially open drawer right above that stuff, there was a torn piece of paper with a phone number on it. I was not too with it then. I looked at it, but I didn’t think much of it. But now I remember, Nate. It was your cell phone number.” She held the newspaper out so they could both see. “In your handwriting.”
Nate’s mind raced. “That’s impossible. I’d never met Teasdale before.”
“And I was the contact with him. He didn’t know your undercover name or your real name, so he couldn’t have known your cell phone number.” She stared at the paper again. “Could he have known you from one of your other assignments?”
He shook his head. “Are you a hundred percent sure that it was my handwriting and my number?”
“I’m no handwriting expert, but I’m as certain as I can be.”
“If it was, then somehow that piece of paper was planted there.”
“Why?”
“To make it look as if I’d already been in contact with him.”
She nodded. “And they put it in a partially open drawer above the flag sketches.”
“Cops don’t believe in coincidences, and I guarantee you they already know whose phone number that is, even if they haven’t realized yet that it shouldn’t have been there.”
“But why would someone bother?” she asked thoughtfully. “After all, Teasdale was expecting us. We were planning to do business with him. There’s no saying that I might not have given him your cell number instead of mine.”
“There’s still the question of the handwriting being mine…and how it got there in the first place.”
They stood under one of the quaint gas lamps that lit the corner of Third and Bridge Street in Newport’s Point Section. A fog had descended on the old seaport town, cloaking the colonial neighborhood with an atmosphere that was positively mysterious.
“Come downtown with me,” Ray said.
Kathleen shook her blond head and pulled her Falchi purse onto her shoulder. “No. The dinner, this place, everything was lovely.”
The little restaurant had given her the perfect opportunity to get Ray Cl
aiborne away and observe and talk to him as they dined alone. And she knew now that he wouldn’t be her next husband. She’d had enough of the artsy type. Perhaps what she needed now was a younger man. Perhaps an athlete.
“Let me call a cab for you, then,” Ray persisted. He pointed off through the fog toward the brassierelike tents that stood beside the visitor’s center. “They are all right there.”
“No. Thank you, though.” She looked down the deserted street. “If it were clearer, we’d be able to see the hotel from here. It’s just over the causeway.”
“I know, but…well, you’re a big girl, Kathleen,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I’m off to meet my friends at the White Horse, so if you need to reach me…”
She turned with a jaunty wave and started down the sidewalk toward the harbor, breathing in the scent of roses that were trailing over the tops of the garden walls lining the street.
It took only a few minutes to reach Washington Street and the little park by the harbor. Crossing it, she started up onto the causeway that traversed the narrow stretch of water separating the town of Newport from Goat Island. She could hear the sound of the bell buoys, muffled by the fog, but she couldn’t see the light on Rose Island, a deserted pile of rocks in the middle of the bay.
The water was washing up against the piers beneath the causeway. When she and Ray had strolled down to the restaurant earlier, there had been a dozen or so Asian-looking people fishing over the side, but there were none now.
A sudden chill raised the gooseflesh on Kathleen’s arm, and she looked about her. The fact that the bridge was deserted was no reason for alarm. Newport was perfectly safe for strolling at night.
It was just the wine…or that story Ray told her earlier. Yes, that was it. About the pirates that had been captured by a British naval vessel, back in the 1700s. The men had been carried back here to Newport, where they had been tried and found guilty. All but one of them was convicted, Ray said.
The townspeople had hanged the pirates in the typical gruesome fashion of the period and transported the bodies out to Goat Island, which was common grazing land at the time. Then the cutthroats had been buried on the island’s beach, between the high-and low-tide marks…so that their souls would never rest.
Rubbing her arms to ward off the persistent chill, Kathleen reached the top of the causeway. The hotel was right at the end of the bridge, and she could see the shape of the building and the lights of the rooms beginning to appear dimly through the fog.
She saw the man suddenly emerge, walking toward her along the sidewalk from the Goat Island side. A moment of panic swept through her, but she quickly controlled herself. This is Newport, she told herself.
As he came closer, his features became clearer to her. He was tall and athletic-looking. He smiled in a friendly way, no doubt to reassure her. Actually, he was very handsome. In a dangerous way, she thought. He had the look of a pirate.
Perhaps she’d forgo the athlete and have a pirate.
As he passed her, she was considering saying something to him when she felt him grab hold of her purse.
“Hey!” was all she was able to get out as she spun around.
The blow to her head shocked her more than it hurt, and as Kathleen felt herself being toppled over the railing, she heard her silk shirt tear on something sharp as she fell.
She hit the black water with a loud slap, but she didn’t feel anything. Kathleen’s only sensations were the cold wetness closing over her, and the taste of salt in her mouth.
Twenty-Seven
Friday, July 2
They had plenty of time, so this morning they’d taken a circuitous route to reach the place. Coming south along Lower Thames Street with its trendy stores and restaurants and waterfront condos, they’d followed the harbor past the lighthouse and the Brown House, which had been kept by the New York Yacht Club as a place to party during the years when the America’s Cup races had made Newport shine.
Out past Fort Adams and their little hideaway above the rocks. Out past the rolling horse farms and converted estates. Out past Hammersmith Farm, where Jackie Bouvier had spent her childhood summers, and where, as a young adult, the dashing war hero Jack Kennedy had come courting.
From there, they had turned toward the center of the island along winding country roads. They had seen the green fairways of the country club, but then the tall trees of the landscaped estates and the hills had obscured it. And then they had turned into the gated drive. The car had glided along the serpentine stretch of finely groomed gravel, past a grotto carefully designed to recall a shrine to some minor woodland god, past a gazebo adorned with roses just coming into bloom. Finally, they’d seen the house beyond the stretch of emerald lawns and the fountain. The turrets and spires rose high above the grounds, and the diamond-shaped panes of glass in the windows sparkled in the light of the bright midday sun.
There was so much more to see and appreciate, coming back to this place a second time.
A few minutes later, they were back in the same library. The Robert Morris flag—perhaps the oldest existing flag of the nation—sat propped up in its frame on a table beside a portable podium. Two dozen chairs, arranged in equal rows, filled the open space in the middle of the library. By the time the grandfather clock between the windows struck noon, everyone had arrived except Kathleen and Ray.
Ellie saw the auctioneer, Mr. Philips, glance with annoyance at his watch, and she forced herself to stay calm. She took Nate’s arm and led him to the back row of chairs, where they sat.
“Tell me what the exact arrangements are, once we get the flag,” she asked quietly.
“You and I drive it back to the hotel.”
“No police? No FBI escort for security?”
“I’m it.”
The government was willing to pay sixty million dollars or more for this flag, and not protect it? Ellie had no doubt about Nate’s abilities, but what if some nutcase decided to…
She forced her mind to stop thinking the worst. This was their line of business—it was what they were experts at. She glanced at the door again. Still no Kathleen Rivers or Ray.
“And after that?” she asked him.
“Two paths diverged in a yellow wood…”
“We split up.”
“I’m afraid so. A limo will take you back to the station in Kingston, where you catch the train to Philadelphia.”
“How about you?”
“I connect with my people.”
“Where?”
He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Don’t ask.”
She hadn’t asked about Chris. Now she couldn’t ask about Nate. Ellie’s mood took a nosedive. This meant that she didn’t know when she’d see him again.
Robert Philips asked everyone to take their seats. They could wait no longer.
“I’ll call you,” Nate whispered into her ear.
Ellie wanted to believe it. She told herself she would believe it. She nodded.
The door of the library opened, and Ray entered. One look at him and Ellie knew something was wrong. He had not shaved, and she thought he looked as if he’d slept in the clothes he had on last night. Ellie and Nate had seen Ray and his client leaving the hotel for dinner.
His gaze darted about the room. When he saw them, he came and sat down next to Ellie.
“Have you seen Kathleen?” he asked tensely.
“No,” Ellie whispered. “Not since last night. She was with you. Why?”
“She’s missing.”
She looked at Ray a second time, and Nate leaned forward. “What do you mean by missing?”
“Missing, gone, like I can’t find her. Her own people can’t contact her.” A few heads turned to them. Ray lowered his voice. “Nobody knows where she is.”
“Start from the beginning,” Nate ordered.
“We went out for dinner last night. Afterward, I went to meet some friends at another restaurant, and she told me she was going back to the hotel.”
“No. She walked.”
“Did she arrive at the hotel? Did anyone see her get back?”
Ellie thought Nate might be revealing too much by asking his questions, but Ray was too frazzled to pay any attention. The auctioneer was standing near the podium, talking to one of the potential buyers.
“I don’t know. She had her key, so there was no reason for her to check in at the front desk.”
“When did you realize she was missing?”
“I had a call waiting from her secretary when I got back to the hotel around midnight. They were trying to get hold of her, but she wasn’t answering the phone in her room, or her cell phone. They assumed she’d be out with me.”
The auctioneer stepped up to the podium and made a final request for people to sit down.
“I went back to her door and knocked. She didn’t answer. I called her, nothing. I even walked back along the route she would have taken coming back to the hotel, but there was no sign of her.”
“Did anybody check inside her room?”
“This morning. Housekeeping told me they didn’t have to make her bed.”
“Did you tell hotel security, or call the police?”
“Of course I did,” Ray said. “Hotel security says she’s not in her room. The police say they’ll check around, but it’s too soon to get worried. They said she’s an adult, and that with no sign of foul play.”
Ray had said himself that Kathleen Rivers would be their only other real competition. That meant he’d checked the credentials of the other parties. Ellie stared at the flag on display. Wednesday night, Robert Philips had opened the glass case so that she and Nate could take a close look. To the naked eye, the weave, color, texture, stitching, the cut of the stars and fifty other things that she’d researched about this period flag looked to be correct. But this was where forgers made their living. She remembered the patches she’d seen on Teasdale’s bench.
